


for my skin is made of paper and my bones are made of glass

by everywordnotsaid



Category: GOT7
Genre: Again, Gen, also beatin on the maknae, angsty angst, cause i'm a masochist, maybe slight jackson/yugyeom if you squint?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-26
Updated: 2015-04-26
Packaged: 2018-03-25 20:16:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3823351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everywordnotsaid/pseuds/everywordnotsaid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Yugyeom's best just isn't enough, and no matter how hard he works he never gets what he wants. And sometimes he thinks that's just how its meant to be, but he can't help believe he was meant for something more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	for my skin is made of paper and my bones are made of glass

Yugyeom knew what he was and what he wasn’t. And he wasn’t a lot of things. He wasn’t handsome like Mark or cute like Bambam. He didn’t have Youngjae’s voice or Jaebum’s charisma. He certainly wasn’t as funny as Jinyeong or as outgoing as Jackson. But he was Yugyeom and that had always been enough for him, and enough he thought for everybody else. Yes he still had baby fat softening the lines of his face, yes he couldn’t always do a perfect flip in his routines and his skin wasn’t smooth and clear and he smiled too wide at all the wrong times but he was only human and he was okay with his imperfections. And Yugyeom believed that if he listened well and worked hard then he would succeed (his mother had always said that hard work was the key to success and his mother had never lied before) so when they gave out the parts for the new song and he didn’t have many lines he wasn’t upset. He knew he just needed to spend more time with his voice lessons and less time fooling around and if he did he would have a bigger part next time.

 

So after the rest of the members filed out he bowed low to the company rep and asked if he worked hard and improved himself could he have more lines in the next song? And the man smiled and nodded and sent him on his way. Yugyeom left the room beaming because now it was simple now, it was something Yugyeom could understand.  When he walked out of the room Jaebum called out

 

“Yah! Yugyeom, if you keep smiling that wide you’re face is going to get stuck!”

 

He just laughed and kept grinning and replied

 

“I’m going to get all the parts next time! You’ll see!” 

 

 Jaebum grinned back and ruffled his hair and yelled at everybody to wait up for them and Yugyeom was content.

 

Over the next weeks Yugyeom worked harder at his lessons then ever before. He arrived early and stayed late and sang himself quietly to sleep and when he slept he dreamt of inky black notes and solo lines. The next song came and when Yugyeom looked at his sheet he struggled to keep the smile on his face

 

Yugyeom learned that sometimes hard work doesn’t guarantee anything.

 

He stayed after everyone left again and this time he bowed low and asked why. The man just shuffled his papers and sighed wearily “Sorry, you just weren’t what we were looking for with this comeback. Maybe next time kid.” The words rang in his ears and even to Yugyeom who wanted to believe they sounded hollow and empty. Yugyeom wanted to ask again, ask what he could do, beg if he had to but as he opened his mouth he saw the man check his watch and tap his foot and could see that he didn’t care, not really. Because Yugyeom was just one kid with dreams to big for his own good. So he shut his mouth with a snap and smiled uncertainly and nodded and he told himself that he just hadn’t worked hard enough. He tried to ignore the little niggling voice which told him otherwise, that, no matter how hard he worked the answer would always be the same. Because it wasn’t how good he was that mattered, it was only skin deep and from the moment he was born it had already been decided for him.

 

His mother called to congratulate him on his new song as she always did. Before he hung up she asked “Where were your parts in the video? I think I might have missed them.” And if Yugyeom’s chest felt tight and his heart ached at her words he buried it away deep and dark. When Mark asked if everything was okay with his gentle concerned voice Yugyeom waved him off with a smile and an excuse and when he escaped to the privacy of his room he was surprised to see his eyes were wet with tears. He scrubbed them away quickly with his sleeve and if Mark had seen them he didn’t say anything.

 

After promotions ended and training started again Yugyeom put everything he had into his work. He poured every bit of himself into it and sometimes he was afraid there would be nothing left but he kept on anyways because what else was there to do? And he thought he knew what it was to be tired, but now four or five hours of sleep seemed like a luxury and he had to take his showers cold and his coffee black in the morning to truly wake up.

 

The practice rooms became his second home and he learned them well. He learned every stain on the ceiling and scratch on the mirror and scar on the floor. He learned the feel of cool wood on his face when he finally fell, when his legs gave out and he couldn’t keep going. He learned what it sounded like when muffled tears echoed off the walls at half past midnight. And he learned that quiet was the loudest sound of all.

 

And this time taught him many things. It taught him what it was like to always be hungry (Yugyeom realized that chubby was cute when you were a kid but now it was time to grow up) and it taught him what it was like to wake up and already be tired. It taught him what shame tasted like- it tasted like bitter tears clinging to the back of your throat- because Yugyeom looked to others and looked to himself and found that he was lacking. It taught him how to lie to everybody else, it taught him how to lie to himself.

 

He lost weight. The soft curve of his cheeks disappeared and the needle on the scale creeping lower and lower should have made him happy but it just made him feel sick.

 

And Yugyeom felt like an open wound, an exposed nerve. He felt raw and bare and bloody. Normally he didn’t take hateful comments to heart, because for every ugly word there were a hundred beautiful ones but now they stung. Now he found himself reading them over and over again, like a kid picking at a scab he just couldn’t leave them alone. And worst of all he was starting to believe them.  Every hurtful thing he turned over and over in his mind and picked apart until he found the truth in them and he knew it didn’t do any good to dwell but he couldn’t stop himself and that only made it hurt more.

 

On the worst days Yugyeom felt so alone. And he might be surrounded by people but he felt dark and cold and distant and being alone and loneliness are two very different things.

 

Yugyeom saw a lot of things. He saw poisoned words and barbed comments, he saw how his name was never number one, he saw how fans flocked to Mark and Bambam and Jackson but not to him. And he hated himself for seeing them, for caring. But he also didn’t see a lot of things.

 

He didn’t see Mark leave a clean towel and water bottle outside the practice rooms when he stayed late. He didn’t see the worried looks JB and Jinyoung exchanged as they watched him sing till his throat burned and his tongue tasted blood. He didn’t see Jackson frown, didn’t see the lines creased into his brow when Yugyeom came back to the dorms past 2:00 yet again. He didn’t know it was Bambam who draped the blanket over him when he fell asleep studying for an exam. He didn’t know it was Youngjae who left the snack bars and fruit on his bed when they all pretended not to notice that Yugyeom had skipped breakfast again.

 

And he didn’t see that he never was alone. He didn’t see the concern or the way they all tried to lift him up whenever they could. He didn’t see the signs painted with his name or the fans who stretched their fingers out just to feel his for a second. He just saw every mistake he made, every line he forgot. He saw every time his voice broke or he missed a step during their routine and it wore away at him like water dripping on a rock eventually wears a hole straight through the middle. And Yugyeom had always been a happy child, a smile found its way easier to his lips then a frown and he didn’t like the taste of salty tears but even the strongest of fortresses crumble and Yugyeom was crumbling piece by broken piece.

 

When the next song was given to them they filed into the little room and for once Yugyeom didn’t smile or laugh. He sat, face serious and drawn with his hands clenched in his lap because he had worked to hard and poured too much of his blood and sweat and tears into this to fail now. As he opened the paper packet and searched for his name below each printed line his heart sank lower and lower until finally it sat in his feet like a lump of lead. And he realized he had failed again.

 

He sat there, mouth shut and so many words he couldn’t say trapped in his throat as the others read through their parts and his grip on the paper grew tighter and tighter and he could feel the pressure behind his eyes that meant he was going to cry and his throat clenched and suddenly he couldn’t do it anymore, couldn’t pretend anymore. He stood abruptly, the chair clattering back and breaking the silence of the room. Everybody turned to him and stared in shock, eyes wide and worried. And they were all waiting, waiting for him and he was waiting to but the words wouldn’t come and he felt like he was choking on them.

 

Yugyeom ran. With a mumbled excuse about needing the bathroom he walked as quickly as he could out of the office, crumpled lyrics fluttering behind him like broken butterflies. He locked himself inside a stall after checking that the rest room was empty and he cried. And it was the kind of crying that left you breathless and torn, that made your lungs feel like fire and your heart feel like ice. That left you empty and drained and tired. When he heard the door open he quickly wipe the tears and snot away and tried to remember how to inhale and exhale, remember what oxygen tasted like. Jaebum’s worried voice floated over the door.

 

“Hey, are okay? You… you seemed upset back there.”

 

When Yugyeom replied his voice was rough and low with tears but he tried his best to hide it. He choked out that he was fine and he just needed a second. With a flush of the toilet and one last attempt to wipe away the wet tracks on his face he unlocked the door and stepped out of the stall. He made a beeline for the sinks, trying his best to avoid Jaebum’s gaze. He made a show of washing his hands and splashed water on his face and scrubbed hard trying to rid his face of salt and bitter shame. When he looked at his reflection he saw his red swollen eyes, saw the look on JB’s face and knew he wasn’t fooling anyone.

 

The meeting room was quiet when he walked back in. Everybody watching him with a mixture of concern and something else Yugyeom couldn’t put his finger on. Somebody had picked up his lyrics and tried (and failed) to smooth out the wrinkles in the sheets. But sometimes it was just too late and the damage had already been done and there are some things you just can’t fix no matter how hard you try.  

 

This time when they filed out one by one Yugyeom didn’t stay behind.

 

Later back at the dorms he joked about his small part with the others but the words leaving his mouth tasted like battery acid and they burned his tongue and throat till all he could taste was charcoal and ash. And he laughed, but he laughed to hard and to long and to loud. Everybody saw there was no humor in it.

 

As much as Yugyeom wanted to be able to just give up, to be satisfied with what he had and not try to want the things just out of his reach he couldn’t. He couldn’t give up on this because that would be giving up on himself. And no matter how far away the stars seemed when he stretched his arms up high he swore he felt his fingers brush the sky. So he kept on trying. Kept the late nights and exhaustion and the others just watched with worried eyes and silent mouths because they didn’t know how to tell Yugyeom that he was tearing himself to pieces trying to be something he didn’t need to be. Or maybe they just knew he wouldn’t listen to them

 

One night after Yugyeom came home late Jackson cornered him before he could escape to his room.

 

“You know this isn’t good for you.”

 

Yugyeom just shrugged, staring intently at the floor and tried to side step Jackson, who just slid smoothly in front of him again. Sighing he replied

 

“Look, I really have to work on these choreo’s if I’m going to get them perfect okay?”

 

And Jackson looked at him seriously (and Yugyeom hated it because it made him feel like a recalcitrant child, made him feel like maybe he shouldn’t be doing what he was doing)

 

“Yugyeom, nobody said you have to be perfect. Nobody’s perfect. You’re just going to break yourself trying. You’re doing your best and that’s what’s important.”

 

And Yugyeom wanted to shout that it was easy for Jackson to say, everybody loved him. He had Hitmaker and Roommate and he was popular and charismatic and he always knew the right words to say, the right time to smile. Dances Yugyeom had to work night after night for came easy as breathing to Jackson, and Yugyeom could feel himself falling farther and farther behind. He didn’t know if he could catch up anymore.

 

But of course he didn’t. He just mumbled that he really was tired and needed to get to bed and pushed past Jackson. Yugyeom felt eyes burning into his back all the way to his room.

 

And maybe part of the reason he was so angry was because he knew deep down that Jackson was right. That he was destroying himself for something he could never achieve. But he couldn’t admit that, because Yugyeom’s best just wasn’t good enough. He needed better, he  _needed_  perfect. So he would just keep trying until his feet bled and his voice was gone and he had used up all of his smiles.

 

It happened one night while they were doing a routine performance. Yugyeom was tired and he was pretty sure he was coming down with something. His stomach was nauseous and he didn’t even try to eat because he knew it would come right back up. And he should have said something, because his vision was weaving in and out and if he stood up to fast the world went dark and fuzzy for a moment but Yugyeom told himself that he was fine, told himself that sitting out was giving up. He thought he had everything to prove and nothing to lose. So when Mark asked how he was feeling he told him he was fine. When Youngjae tried to get him to lie down and nap he waved him off with a hurried ‘I need to practice’. Instead when Bambam felt his forehead with a frown and then forced a bottle of Tylenol into his head he downed more then he probably should have and tried to convince everyone-tried to convince himself- that he was okay. He did a pretty shitty job.

 

And he thought he could hold himself together but everything felt ten times worse on stage. The lights were too bright and they way they flashed and spun made him feel dizzy and sick. The crowds screams were deafening and soon everything was drowned out by a dull roaring in his ears that wouldn’t go away no matter how hard he shook his head. Sweat beaded on his forehead even before he started to dance and he felt hot and cold all at the same time.  Somewhere between A and Girls, Girls, Girls Yugyeom realized that this had been a really bad idea and he was either going to pass out on stage or throw up, neither of which sounded appealing.

 

As it turned out he did neither. It was halfway through the song and the world was weaving in and out of focus- everything seemed surreal and slow-and he tried to do his flip. One second he was flying through the air and the next he was lying on the floor staring at the ceiling with very real pain throbbing in his back and leg. In his daze all he could think of was the time when he was seven that he had fallen off the monkey bars at the park near his house. He remembered lying on the ground, gasping for air like a fish out of water (he had honestly believed he was going to die right there with the wood chips digging into his cheek and the chilly winter wind biting at his face). That time his father had been there to pick him up and hold him tight and wipe away his tears and eventually the air had rushed back into his lungs. This time he wasn’t so sure. Because now it was a wooden stage pressing against his cheek and the air was hot and sticky and suffocating and now there was nobody waiting to pick him.

 

Except for there was.

 

Because everybody was rushing to his side, and there were so many hands ready to pick him up. And now JB was beside him, holding his hand in his and Jackson was kneeling behind him, pulling off his sweatshirt and folding it beneath his head. Mark and Youngjae were crouching between him and the audience, shielding him from searching eyes and camera flashes. Jinyoung was calling out for help and Bambam was hovering nearby with soft hands and gentle eyes.

 

And as he lay there, throbbing and feverish and afraid and ashamed of the tears leaking down his face none of them flinched. None of them walked away. They just wiped his tears and held his hair back from his face and sheltered him from the sea of screaming faces as best they could.

 

When the paramedics arrived they brought with them a flurry of hurried words and urgent hands and if Yugyeom had been afraid before he was terrified now. Even in the best state of mind the experience would have been unsettling but Yugyeom was in pain and half conscious and it just made everything that much worse. The medics poked and prodded his leg and back and asked him if he could feel his toes and where it hurt and other questions that blurred together into a haze of words that he forgot as soon as he heard them. They moved him to a stretcher and suddenly his back was made of fire and he bit his lip to keep from crying out.

 

When they started to carry him away on the stretcher he panicked at the thought of being alone because his friends were the only thing holding him together right now. He reached out wildly, desperately. At first there was only empty space and he strained further and further until finally his hand brushed somebody else’s and he grabbed on tight and whispered a single word: ‘ _please’._ It must have sounded pathetic but at the moment Yugyeom didn’t care, he was past embarrassment and pride _._ All he wanted was someone to hold his hand. Someone to whisper in his ear and remind him he wasn’t alone, someone to drive away the fear and the pain. Because he was only 17, only a kid and he just needed someone to tell him it was going to be alright. Who ever it was didn’t brush his hand away but instead held tighter and followed never once letting go.

 

When Yugyeom turned his head it Jackson walking along beside him. He could see the worried lines creased into his forehead, see the frown on his face and the way his eyebrows drew together the way they did whenever he was upset, but when his eyes met Yugyeom’s he smiled and squeezed his hand and whispered

 

“Don’t worry, everything’s going to be fine.”

 

And maybe because he was calm and steady when everything else was a mess, maybe it was because the warmth of his hand in Yugyeom’s was winding it’s way up his arm and through his chest and wrapping around his heart, or maybe it was just because he trusted Jackson, but Yugyeom believed him.

 

When they reached the ambulance as they started to load Yugyeom into the back they pulled Jackson to the side. Their voices were low but Yugyeom heard fragmented phrases drifting back to him

 

“we’re sorry….only family allowed…we can’t let you ride with him.”

 

And he watched as Jackson’s face went hard and tight.

 

A few moments later Jackson hopped into the back and sat beside him reaching down to grab his hand again, and the anger on his face moments before had melted away without a trace.  Jackson didn’t let go again until they reached the hospital.

 

After that Yugyeom didn’t remember much, just people talking at him to loud and fast for his blurry mind to understand and large beeping machines. Then they settled him into a private room and they must have pumped some pretty good painkillers into his system because as much as his ankle and back had hurt now he could barely feel them. He drifted off into a feverish sleep.

 

When he woke up his empty room was now filled to bursting, the members squeezed into every space available. Jinyoung and Jaebum sat in two of the actual chairs in the room, Bambam was draped across the low table in the corner, Youngjae and Mark were leaning against the wall. And Jackson sat next to his bed, head back, arms crossed and snoring loudly. When Mark saw him open his eyes he kicked the back of the chair and Jackson startled awake with a snort that would have been funny under different circumstances.

 

They all stared at him, quiet and Yugyeom stared right back unsure of what to say. So instead he said nothing (and that was probably how he ended up here in this hospital bed in the first place). Jaebum broke the silence

 

“How are you feeling?”

 

Whatever they had given him must have started to wear off because he felt like he had been hit by a semi and his head was achy and he still felt a little fuzzy and feverish. And beyond the psychical the inside of him hurt too, his heart was torn and trampled and he had messed up again and he had just _wanted_ so badly to prove himself, to be strong and he had done nothing but tear everything around him down with him and he could already imagine the stories and pictures flying across the internet and the thought of them made him want to cry. And he wasn’t sure he had it in him to look any of his friends in the eye right now. So he said

 

“My back hurts.”

 

Because that was all he could manage right now, all he could say. Because the wounds were still raw and fresh and it hurt too much to dig any deeper. And it was such an understatement that it made him want to laugh.

 

Jaebum sighed,

 

“Of course it does. You strained three muscles in your back and rolled your ankle. Not to mention you gave yourself a concussion, honestly you’re lucky it wasn’t worse! What were you doing out on that stage Yugyeom?”

 

And Yugyeom bowed his head in shame, because here was where the scolding started. Not that he didn’t deserve it. It still stung, like lemon juice in papercuts.

 

“I… I wasn’t that sick. I thought I could do it, I just didn’t want to disappoint the fans y’know.”

 

And it was a weak excuse, and even as the words left Yugyeom’s mouth he knew it. What had driven him on that stage was pride and vanity and his own insecurities. It was selfish and silly and he knew it.

 

“Not that sick? You had a fever of almost 40 degrees celsius! It’s amazing you were even coherent!”

 

And JB’s voice was laced with irritation and exasperation and something else, hidden behind the anger. And Yugyeom knew it was true, knew he had brought this in himself so he just clenched his hands in his lap and tried not to cry (but he was never good at hiding his tears) and soon they leaked down his face. They were tears of pain, tears of shame and embarrassment and they snaked down his chin and landed on his hands before rolling down to soak into the sheets around his legs.

 

And as Yugyeom sat and cried he felt warm arms wrapping around his shoulders and Jackson whispered comforting words in his ear. When he looked about everybody had gathered around his bed with matching looks of concern coloring their faces. Bambam said in a quiet careful tone

 

“Jaebum’s just worried about you. We all are.”

 

And the kindness in his voice (the forgiveness there) broke something inside Yugyeom and suddenly he was speaking, words tumbling out of his mouth.

 

“I just- I just wanted to be good enough. I just wanted to be as good as you guys and I know I’m not but I just wanted to show that …that I was strong too,  and that you guys can trust me. I-I’m sorry for messing everything up.”

 

And Yugyeom hated how rough and broken his voice sounded. Hated how weak it made him feel.

 

Everybody stared at him in shock.

 

“You don’t need to prove anything to us Yugyeom. You never have.”

 

As Yugyeom looked around at them all, gathered around his bed he saw no lie in their eyes. There was no shame or disappointment or anger, nothing he feared he would see. And as he looked he realized that the only place he saw those things was in himself. The only hateful eyes were the ones reflected back in the mirror. And once he realized that the chains that were pulling tighter and tighter around him crumbled to dust because it had always been him that put them there and he was the only one who could take them off.

 

His silence must have worried his friends because Jinyoung hesitantly asked

 

“Are you going to be okay?”

 

And Yugyeom was silent for a moment, turning the question over in his mind. Because these next words meant something, they were a choice, a hope, a wish, they were truth, they were a promise. These next words meant everything.

 

He smiled and for the first time in a while he meant it.

 

“Yeah. I’m going to be just fine.”


End file.
